"Would you mind if he liked me better than you, dear?" she asked,
doubtfully. "Would you mind the least little bit?"
Virginia laughed merrily and stooped to kiss her.
"I shouldn't mind if every man in the world liked you better," she answered
gayly. "If they only had as much sense as I've got, they would, foolish
things."
"I never knew but one who did," returned Betty, "and that was the Major."
"But Champe, too."
"Well, perhaps,--but Champe's afraid of you. He calls you Penelope, you
know, because of the 'wooers.' We counted six horses at the portico
yesterday, and he made a bet with me that all of them belonged to the
'wooers'--and they really did, too."
"Oh, but wooing isn't winning," laughed Virginia, going toward the door.
"You'd better hurry, Betty, supper's ready. I wouldn't touch my hair, if I
were you, it looks just lovely." Her white skirts fluttered across the
dimly lighted hall, and in a moment Betty heard her soft step on the stair.
Two days later Betty told Dan good-by with smiling lips. He rode over in
the early morning, when she was in the garden gathering loose rose leaves
to scatter among her clothes. There had been a sharp frost the night
before, and now as it melted in the slanting sun rays, Miss Lydia's summer
flowers hung blighted upon their stalks. Only the gay October roses were
still in their full splendour.
"What an early Betty," said Dan, coming up to her as she stood in the wet
grass beside one of the quaint rose squares.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189